Suspended Retribution: a spell-binding serial killer thriller (DI Rosalind Kray Book 3)

by Rob Ashman

  ‘What the fuck has Hicks got to do with this?’

  Kray punched down the handle on the door and stomped back into the incident room. Bagley followed gesticulating and wearing a ‘What now!’ look on his face.

  Tavener was at his desk, keeping his head down.

  Kray marched up to the whiteboard. ‘The reason why I’m pretty sure it isn’t the Stapletons is because here …’ She pointed at the first mug shot. ‘Is Jimmy Cadwell, small time drug dealer and all-round pain in the arse. He kills a four-year-old girl by running her over in his car while texting. He pleads guilty to a lesser charge, sings a sob story to the judge who hands down a driving ban along with an eight-month jail sentence suspended for two years. The judge in this case is Bernard Preston.’

  ‘I know all this!’ Bagley boomed. ‘And that is why we need to—’

  ‘This is William Hicks,’ Kray ploughed on, pointing to the second mugshot. ‘A twenty-three-year-old one-man crime wave. He gets arrested and brought to trial on eighteen counts of burglary. When in court he asks for five hundred and forty other offences to be taken into consideration – yes you heard me correctly, five hundred and forty! Just think about that number for a moment.’ Tavener’s eyebrows nearly hit the roof. ‘He cites a relationship breakdown and a problem with drink and drugs as mitigation, along with having to look after his brother who has learning difficulties. The judge sentences him to a twenty-week jail sentence, suspended for one year. And guess who was the presiding judge? Bernard Preston. Now I don’t believe in coincidences.’

  Bagley was silent, listening to the story unfold.

  Kray continued. ‘Cadwell gets run over by a car, not once but three times. Coincidence? I think not. Hicks is a thief and dies by having his hands cut off. Coincidence? I think not. And both of them received suspended sentences handed down by Bernard Preston. Coincidence? I think not.’

  Bagley looked like a landed carp. His mouth was moving but nothing came out.

  ‘So, to answer your previous question, Dan, we are not looking at the Stapletons because I believe we should be looking for a vigilante.’

  ‘It’s a coincidence,’ said ACC Quade having listened to what Kray had to say. Kray sat back in her chair and cast her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Do you have any evidence to connect the two cases? Do you have any DNA?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Finger prints?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Boot prints?’

  ‘We have a boot print—’

  ‘That connects the two?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Similarities in MO?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, you have nothing solid, what you have is a plausible storyline that could connect both cases if you allow your imagination to run riot.’ In the rarefied atmosphere that was ACC Mary Quade’s office, this was not going well. ‘What do you think, Dan?’

  ‘I’m not sure, we have limited resources and can’t be seen to chase ghosts.’

  ‘What do you propose?’ Quade asked.

  ‘We should—’

  Kray jumped in. ‘We should run the investigations separately, with a small team looking at the ‘coincidences’. The heavy lifting will still need to be done on both cases anyway. If the joint-work turns out to be a dead end then we’ve lost nothing.’

  Bagley stared at Kray. ‘Yes, that’s what I think we should do.’

  ‘We could get Brownlow to run the Hicks case allowing you to work the overlap, Dan,’ said Quade.

  Bagley gave Kray a sideways look.

  ‘Ma’am, if we want to do a thorough job can I suggest Dan and I manage it between us? The Cadwell case has gone cold, we have nothing to go on. There is no DNA on the vehicle, other than Cadwell’s, no CCTV and everyone who we’ve interviewed to date has alibis up to their neck. This might give us a new angle.’

  ‘But why not use Brownlow?’ Quade asked.

  ‘He’s pretty tied up at the moment …’ Bagley pussy-footed around the issue.

  ‘With all due respect, ma’am, we would make more progress if you gave the case to my cat.’ Kray didn’t do pussy-footing.

  ‘DI Kray do I have to remind you I will not allow you to disparage a fellow colleague in my office.’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, I withdraw the comment. I want us to have the best chance of catching whoever is behind this.’

  Quade paused. ‘How would you propose tackling the overlap between the cases? I mean, who would have had access to the court findings and sentencing?’

  ‘That’s our first problem, ma’am.’ Kray laid out a buff coloured file on the desk. ‘The Cadwell and Hicks trial verdicts were in the public domain.’ She removed two clippings from the local rag. ‘They also made the local news at the time. Anyone could have seen them. We need to run through the evidence trail again and cross reference anything that could be common. The second action is to run a data trawl on all the trial cases that have resulted in a suspended sentence in the last three years. Especially those involving Bernard Preston. Then identify the ones that have the same characteristics as the Cadwell and Hicks cases.’

  ‘Okay, but I want to be kept in the loop. If they are connected, I want us to be seen to have joined the dots up early,’ said Quade.

  Isn’t that what I just did? Kray kept her lips sealed.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ they said in unison and rose from the table.

  ‘Oh and one more thing,’ Quade said as they headed to the door. ‘I want you two to play nicely, is that understood?’

  They both nodded.

  Kray and Bagley walked two abreast down the stair well.

  ‘You told her about our chat yesterday?’ Kray said through clenched teeth.

  ‘She asked how it was going.’ Bagley had not expected his mate, the ACC, to drop him in it. ‘I didn’t know you had a cat?’ he asked trying to keep it light.

  ‘I don’t.’

  The rest of the walk was in silence. When they approached the incident room Kray turned to Bagley. ‘I’ll get the guys together and both of us can run through what we have.’

  ‘Good idea, shall we say, thirty minutes?’

  ‘Yes that’s good. Oh and Dan the next time Quade asks you how it’s going, you can tell her I’ve applied for the job in CJU.’

  24

  The incident room was buzzing, not since the Palmer case had Kray seen so many eager faces waiting to be briefed. Bagley stood out front, explaining how the investigation was to be structured.

  ‘I will be handling the Hicks case while DI Kray will be leading the Cadwell investigation.’ Bagley was being very presidential. ‘Now the reason we have you all together is there is a slim chance these cases are linked, so at this point I will hand over to Roz who will give you a heads up on her theory.’

  Slim chance? You patronising twat.

  ‘Thank you, Dan. I have provided each of you with a summary of the criminal records of Hicks and Cadwell. I think you will agree it makes toe-curling reading. I have also made note of the sentences that were handed down when they last appeared in court. I think you will agree that is equally toe-curling.’ There was a general murmuring of agreement along with a few people uttering, ‘Five hundred and forty!’

  ‘In addition to working both cases, we will also be pursuing the theory that the killings are linked by them both receiving suspended sentences. Plus, in each case, the manner of their death could also be construed as a vengeance killing. Both cases were widely reported in the press and on the local news, so they would have been well known. We could be looking for a vigilante.’ This word galvanised more chatter and knowing glances.

  ‘I have to stress …’ Bagley was on his feet. ‘At this stage it is a working theory and nothing more. We investigate each case separately until such time as a positive connection is uncovered, or not. In other words, stick to your own case and don’t be diverted.’

  A small guy wearing a crumpled suit shot his hand up. His name was Mark. ‘Roz, have you drawn up a
list of other convicted criminals who have been given suspended sentences?’

  ‘I have and they are pinned to the whiteboard. I went back three years and discarded the petty offences, which left us with ten possible candidates.’

  ‘What criteria did you use to weed out the non-runners?’ Mark asked.

  ‘I’m not sure I would go so far as to call it a criteria, Mark. I asked myself the question: If I were the victim of this crime, on a scale of zero to ten, how pissed off would I be? The ones on the board all scored a nine or ten. We need to make contact with these people as a priority, to see if they’ve noticed anything strange in the past few weeks. So, if you do know any of them, let us know.’

  A ripple of conversation ran around the room, Mark seemed satisfied with the answer.

  ‘Are there any that score an eleven?’ asked a woman scribbling on her notepad.

  ‘One, I have no doubt you’ll spot it a mile off,’ said Kray.

  Bagley was fidgeting on the spot, watching the team’s reaction. ‘Let me stress again, I want people to focus on the case they have been given. Roz and I will look for the crossover.’

  The meeting broke up and everyone made a beeline for the board, Bagley was looking less than impressed. He sidled up to Kray.

  ‘I don’t want folk getting sidetracked looking for connections when they should be concentrating on what’s in front of them.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Have you lined up another crack at the Stapletons?’

  ‘I have,’ she lied, ‘well worth another go, I reckon. What’s your first move?’

  ‘The letting agency. If the killer was lying in wait for Hicks he might have viewed the flat as part of his preparations.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Kray said, knowing full well it was, because she had given him that idea an hour earlier. ‘Nice one.’

  The next fifteen minutes were spent answering questions and giving everyone their tasking for the day. Within twenty minutes the incident room was empty.

  Kray was in her car, riding solo. She was travelling without her trusted sidekick, Tavener, because Bagley had nabbed him to work on his case. It felt good to be out from under Bagley’s critical eye. She passed the turn-off for the Woodland View estate and headed out of town towards the zoo. It was easier to tell Bagley what he wanted to hear regarding the Stapletons rather than argue the toss that he was barking up the wrong tree. She passed the large bay fronted properties and turned into a less salubrious street, with semi-detached houses and rubbish in the front gardens.

  When she parked up she hit two buttons on her phone. The inside of her car reverberated with the ring tone.

  ‘Hey this is a nice surprise. Hang on one second …’ It was Dr Ding-dong; the sound of footsteps and a door closing echoed through the speakers. ‘That’s better I can talk now. How are you?’

  ‘Having a mare of a day but then, what’s new? How about you?’

  ‘Not having such a good day myself.’

  ‘Why, have you lost a body?’

  ‘No nothing so trivial. I text a woman asking if she would like to join me at my place tonight and I would cook dinner. She hasn’t replied, what do you think of that?’

  ‘She must be a right cow.’ Kray smiled. ‘If I were you I would steer well clear of that one.’

  ‘I think you might be right.’

  ‘About steering well clear?’

  ‘No about her being a cow.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘I called, Dr Millican, to inform you I will not be paying you a visit regarding the body of William Hicks. For that, you will have the pleasure of DCI Dan Bagley. He may wish to attend or he may simply read your report.’

  ‘Is that the newly appointed DCI?’

  ‘The very same, see … you were listening.’

  ‘Okay then I will expect his call.’ Millican paused. ‘Perhaps he might like to have his dinner cooked for him tonight?’

  ‘I doubt it, he looks more of a takeaway man to me.’

  ‘Shame, I guess I’ll have a pig-out on a dinner for two.’

  ‘I’ll be there around seven-thirty.’ She hung up smiling.

  Kray looked up and down the street trying to locate the house. It wasn’t difficult. It stood out from the rest with its fresh coat of paint and new windows. This was the abode of Catherine Stubbs. She had moved into the ground floor flat five months ago. The tenant manager had said she could normally be found at home in the daytime but not on alternate Wednesdays when she tended to be out all day.

  25

  It was the day I carried my friend and made a vow.

  We lifted the coffin high in the air and then down again. It felt like I was carrying the weight of the Brotherhood on my shoulder. All six of us adjusted our position to even out the balance. All of us were roughly the same height apart from Becket, who supported the casket on his upturned palm resting on his shoulder. We would take the piss out of him for that afterwards.

  The vicar arranged the procession and gave a nod to the woman at the organ. She slipped effortlessly into Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, and the music drifted up to greet us as we walked into the church.

  As we shuffled onto the red carpet I mused that friendship between men is an odd affair. It’s a friendship where you can remember every joke your friend ever told, but not know that his wife left him a month ago. I had no idea Jono was religious.

  The church was packed with members of the congregation, family, friends and soldiers from the unit. The vicar led the cortege, his bible in his hands, followed by Francine, Jono’s wife, supported by his brother, Sam. He was the spitting image of Jono, which must have broken her heart every time she clapped eyes on him. Her arm was linked through his, as much for physical support as emotional.

  A blood red carpet ran the length of the church to the altar. At the end I could see his children, sat with their heads bowed with an older woman, presumably the grandmother. They were ten and eight. It was a heart-rendering sight. Just when they had come to accept that Daddy had returned from war, and there was only half as much of him to love, they were now staring at the stone floor not wanting to see what was approaching from behind.

  Jono had spent a lengthy period in hospital when he got back. There were times when it was touch and go, but he pulled through and was getting himself fitted with prosthetic legs.

  ‘Look out, Robocop, cos here I come,’ he would shout making the kids laugh.

  I visited him a number of times, it was great to hear the old stories and remember those who hadn’t been so lucky.

  He once asked me, ‘Did you really find my leg and put it in the chopper when we flew to Bastion?’

  ‘Yeah, I did.’

  ‘What the fuck did you expect them to do with it? Sew it back on?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I can recall is thinking it was the most important thing in the world. I had to find your leg.’

  ‘Well it looks like they must have mislaid it along the way.’ He waved his stump in my direction. ‘It’s a right bastard when someone mislays your leg.’

  A short while after that he snagged his stump on a shard of metal protruding from his wheelchair and the wound got infected. As a precautionary measure he was admitted to hospital where they could administer industrial strength antibiotics. After a few days he contracted MRSA and deteriorated fast. An outbreak of clostridium difficile on the ward was too much for his weakened body to take. He died three weeks later. Even though he was in an isolation room the bug crept under the door and took him. I had received a call from his wife and arrived at his bedside ten minutes before his life drained away. Some precautionary measure that tuned out to be, admitting him to hospital.

  We shuffled along between the rows of seated people and I could feel my cheek was weeping, the change in air temperature had set it off. I couldn’t risk mopping it with a tissue so it had to run down my face. We lowered the coffin, slid it onto the trolley draped in red velvet and I took my seat next to Julie. She leaned int
o me, linking her arm through mine. The order of service was in the back of the seat in front of me, Jono’s face beaming out of the front cover.

  Every joke he ever told me flashed before me.

  ‘I never knew you were religious,’ I muttered.

  ‘What’s that?’ Julie said.

  ‘Oh nothing.’ I turned my head and smiled a weak kind of smile at her.

  The funeral was mercifully short. I constantly dabbed the weeping puss from my cheek while the vicar guided us through the order of service. Jono’s brother gave a speech that had the whole place reaching for their hankies.

  I could hear Jono’s voice chirping in my ear. ‘There, everyone’s doing the handkerchief thing now. You don’t look so much of a wanker mopping your cheek!’ It’s exactly what he would have said.

  At the end we filed past the family. I found it hard to look at his two sons, standing to attention, being brave for their mum. I hugged Francine. Her face was damp.

  ‘Thank you, Alex, I know Jono would have wanted you to be with him.’

  ‘I’ll always be with him, Francine.’

  I squeezed her hands in mine and moved along the line. The eldest boy stuck out his hand, I shook it and placed my other hand on his brother’s shoulder, leaning forward.

  ‘Take care of your mum.’

  ‘We will,’ the elder lad said, his face was red.

  I could take no more and bustled through the gaggle of people out into the courtyard, leaving Julie behind. I walked around with my hands thrust in my pockets trying to keep the tears at bay.

  The hefty figure of Ben Pinner blocked my path. He had been our commanding officer during our last deployment, his broad shoulders and barrel-body made his head appear two sizes too small. He was a popular guy who looked after his men. I had always known him as Pinball. A nickname that ticked the boxes in so many ways.

  ‘He will be missed.’

  ‘Yes, sir, he will. He was a good friend,’ I replied.

  ‘When are you going to stop fucking about and come join me?’ Pinball said, gripping my hand and pulling me in close. ‘We are growing fast and need people like you.’